


The Wayward Canary

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Series: KH F/F One Shots [5]
Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Twilight Town (Kingdom Hearts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Naminé may have flown free of her cage, but she still needs shelter once in a while.





	The Wayward Canary

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the [KH Rarepairs Zine](https://khrarepairszine.itch.io/khrarepairszine).

Olette paced between the blooming flowers and the broken statues of the mansion’s anterior courtyard. Dry dirt crunched under her sneakers, and she waved away a dragonfly that hovered a little too close to her face. When she caught herself glancing at the front door for the umpteenth time, she turned around and walked back out the gates, just to keep from obsessing.

Naminé had had reservations about living in Twilight Town at first, but it only took her a few weeks to start easing up, and after four months, she had officially become part of the gang. She joined them on the clock tower for ice cream, despite her mild uneasiness with heights. She partook in beach days, though she mostly stayed beneath the cover of her umbrella, like a sea creature drawn into its shell. She and Pence cheered for Hayner, Roxas, and Olette during Struggle tournaments, and afterward, they all boarded the train to finish their day off at Sunset Hill.

Lately, however, Naminé and Olette had been spending more time in each other’s company. They met on the tower for ice cream, just the two of them. While the boys went ghost-hunting in the tunnels of Sunset Terrace, the girls took walks downtown and ate lunch on the rooftop cafés. That had been Olette’s plan for this particular afternoon, but after half an hour of waiting for Naminé, she started to get antsy, and when numerous phone calls and texts went unanswered, that was when she started to worry.

To be fair, Naminé did have a tendency to wander off, and it wasn’t unheard of for her to run late. Usually, her attention was diverted by something perfectly harmless, like window-shopping or petting a dog. But she wasn’t at any of their usual haunts, and after a brief and somewhat frantic group text, Roxas advised Olette to try the old mansion, if she hadn’t already.

She hadn’t, of course. The mansion—with its moth-eaten curtains, its fallen chandeliers, and that massive, anachronistic computer still humming away in the basement—was everything that gave Olette the creeps. It was the only place in Twilight Town that forced her to acknowledge that the world at large was bigger and scarier than the world she lived in. She’d take the local legends over being attacked by monsters and witnessing a real-life kidnapping any day.

But Olette braved the mansion—rotten memories and all—for Naminé. She poked around the courtyard, waded through the overgrown lawn, then stepped inside the dusty foyer, calling her name.

It wasn’t until Olette screwed up her courage and ventured down to the basement that it finally clicked. The room was empty, but a small light blinked steadily above the…transporter? Teleporter? Encoder? Olette couldn’t remember—on the sliding scale of jocks and computer nerds, she’d always fallen a little closer to Hayner’s side than Pence’s. But she knew enough to understand where Naminé had gone. She might very well have been in downtown Twilight Town after all. Just not the right one.

As much as Olette hated waiting, there was no force in the universe that could compel her to touch a single button or switch on that computer. Besides, she already felt like she was intruding, as if she’d accidentally read a page of someone else’s diary. Every one of their new friends had places that were personal to them, and them alone. Xion had chosen to live on Destiny Islands for that very reason. She said her heart was attuned to that world, that the seashells in the sand and the sound of waves resonated with her on a cellular level, more than anything she’d ever experienced. Roxas stayed in Twilight Town, citing that week he spent with the virtual Hayner, Pence, and Olette as the kind of life he wanted to keep living, and the kind of memories he wanted to keep creating.

Maybe that was what Naminé had done this afternoon: followed some inner call down to the mansion basement, sending herself back to a world made of data and dreams because that was what felt the most like home.

It was a grim thought, in Olette’s opinion, but she gave Naminé some time and some space to herself. She rubbed her arms when she was back outside, trying to rid herself of the mansion’s perpetual chill.The basement air clung to her, as if she’d walked through a cobweb covered in dew.

While Olette wandered aimlessly across the grass, she couldn’t help wondering if Naminé truly liked Twilight Town, or if she only stayed for a lack of anywhere better to go. She seemed to enjoy socializing with everyone well enough—she even tagged along at the skate park, though she refused to set foot on anything with wheels, opting instead to sit on a bench and draw the others. She captured their movements in dramatic shapes and striking colors, but eventually, Olette noticed that a key detail was missing.

“What’s that about?” she had asked one afternoon, pointing at a vivid but faceless sketch of herself. Naminé had shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said, and Olette could tell it was a lie. “I just don’t really draw faces.”

“Why not?” Olette had teased, leaning down. “There’s not something _wrong_ with my face, is there?”

“No, no,” Naminé had said hurriedly. And then, without thinking, she added, “You have a lovely face.”

Olette had paused, suddenly aware of how close she was standing to Naminé, and Naminé had blushed and kept her head down.

The lack of faces might have been unsettling, if Naminé’s style weren’t so abstract. Besides, her subjects were easily identified by their hairstyles, their body language, and even certain colors that Naminé seemed to associate with each of them. Red, orange, and yellow for Pence, Olette, and Hayner, respectively. Gray for Roxas. Olette couldn’t figure out which color Naminé assigned to herself, because she never included herself in her drawings, like a person who was always absent from group photos because she volunteered to hold the camera.

One day, Olette outright asked, “So, which color are you?” After considering her answer for a few long moments, possibly for the first time, Naminé finally said, “Clear.”

It must have struck her as a strange response, because later that day, apropos of nothing, Naminé added, “I’m not used to places like this. I spent most of my time in empty rooms with white walls. This world…it’s so saturated in color, I almost don’t know what to do with it.”

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” Olette had said. “Just enjoy it.” Naminé had given her a sweet but somber smile, like a jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece.

She seemed to suffer from a kind of sensory overload at times. Olette couldn’t blame her, but she couldn’t exactly relate. She’d always been a vibrant girl, a lover of sunshine and sea breezes and the sound of skateboard wheels clattering down brick roads. Of Struggle matches, and trying every ice cream flavor on the menu, and chasing fireflies where the grassy fields met the forest.

Naminé, in contrast, seemed overwhelmed by mundane, everyday things. While Olette cannonballed into the deep end of life, Naminé perched delicately at the edge of the pool, swishing her feet in the water for half an hour before she even thought about easing in.

But there was plenty of middle ground between the deep end and dry land, between the Twilight Town Olette had known all her life and the Twilight Town she would never know. The mansion was the only place where those two worlds overlapped, and if that was where Naminé found her comfort zone, then that was where Olette would meet her.

It took less than half an hour for Naminé to emerge, as if she sensed that Olette was waiting. She was quieter than usual, and focused. Contemplative. Olette almost wanted to ask if she had seen the data versions of herself and her friends—if they even still existed—but she didn’t know if Naminé was ready to talk about that. And even if she were, Olette didn’t know if she was ready to hear about it.

“Hey,” she said instead, keeping her tone light. “I was wondering where you went.”

“I’m sorry,” Naminé said, predictably. The more Olette told her that she didn’t need to apologize, the more apologies seemed to spill out of her mouth. “I didn’t…I just lost track of time.”

“It’s cool,” Olette assured her. “I was just a little worried, that’s all. When you didn’t answer my texts, I wasn’t sure what happened.”

“I guess the basement doesn’t get the best reception,” Naminé replied. Olette smiled a little and gestured to the forest trail.

“Well, if you’re still up for hanging out…?”

Naminé nodded, and together they started down the path toward town. They were quiet for a while, listening to the leaves rustle overhead and the occasional twig snap softly beneath their feet. Finally, Olette said, “Listen, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but…” She faltered, not sure what she even wanted to ask. “I guess I was just wondering…what’s it like in there?”

“What do you mean?”

Olette kicked a small stone off the path and into the underbrush. “I dunno. The other Twilight Town…is it like this one? Or is it more…computer program-y?”

“Very technical terminology,” Naminé said, and Olette stuck her tongue out. “It _is_ an obvious simulation. At least, obvious enough to anyone familiar with the real version. But to someone like me, or Roxas…it did the job. Especially when it was first constructed. It was cruder back then, but we didn’t have as many real-world experiences to compare it to. And it wasn’t meant to exist for very long, anyway.”

Olette was willing to leave it at that, but something about Naminé’s silence made it clear that she had more to say. “I feel nostalgic when I walk through the data town,” she said. “It’s barren, but familiar. Like experiencing deja vu from a dream. Or a simulation, I suppose. It’s hard to describe.”

Olette nodded slowly. “I guess your art is a nice balance, then? To all the data stuff, I mean.”

“Well, the drawings were just data in the end, too,” Naminé replied. She said things like that sometimes, cryptic statements spoken so casually that they left Olette feeling like she had somehow missed a crucial part of the conversation. Maybe one day she’d be brave enough to ask for an explanation, and maybe Naminé would be brave enough to give it. But for now, Olette simply listened, letting these mysterious words leave Naminé’s mouth and be carried away on the breeze, lost to the sky.

“It’s strange,” Naminé went on. “I spent so much time sitting in this Twilight Town, monitoring the other one. I watched Roxas go through what he thought was his life, never getting any closure…” She took a deep breath, but when she let it out, it was so soft that Olette barely heard it. “I don’t know what’s sadder,” she said, with a hint of self-deprecation. “That Roxas spent a week thinking his fake life and fake home and fake friendships were real, or that I spent that same week envying him.”

Olette didn’t know what to say. The toughest problems she faced in her everyday life were skinned knees and mild sunburns and not having enough munny to upgrade her skating equipment. Existential crises were beyond her scope, and they made her feel like Naminé was still living in a world that was out of reach.

But she wasn’t, and Olette reminded them both of this fact by taking Naminé’s hand, holding it between them as they walked.

“Does this feel fake?” she asked. Naminé shook her head, unable to speak, and Olette squeezed her hand. “Good. Because it’s not. Whatever you wanted back then, you can have it now—for real. And…I know it’s none of my business, but if you ever want some peace and quiet, you don’t have to come all the way out here, to this creepy old basement. You can just tell us. We don’t have to go on adventures every single day, you know?”

Naminé twined her fingers with Olette’s. “I know,” she said, somehow managing to infuse the words with an unspoken apology. “But I do like it down there. Something about that place…I’ve just spent so much time in bright, open rooms, with nowhere to…”

She knew she was making herself sound pitiful, like an uncaged bird afraid to stretch her wings, and she tried to brush off the sympathetic look Olette was giving her. “It’s just nice to be somewhere different, I suppose. Someplace where I know there’s no one watching.”

“All right…I guess I get that,” Olette said slowly. Naminé must have heard the hesitation in her voice, because she reassured her with a smile.

“I probably _could_ use some more sunlight, though,” she said, and Olette pulled her closer so she could bump their shoulders together.

“Absolutely. Sunshine and ice cream,” she said, her confidence returning now that they were in familiar territory. “That can be our first stop once we get back into town. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Naminé agreed. “Although—if it’s not too much trouble—could we…maybe try a different flavor this time?”

“Not a fan of the classic, huh?”

“I just…I don’t get it. It tastes like saltwater. Whenever I eat it, I feel seasick.”

Olette laughed, a light but full-bodied sound. “Those are bold words around here,” she said. “Don’t worry. There’s _tons_ of flavors to choose from. How about an orange creamsicle? Rainbow sherbet? Phantomberry? Totally Turtle? Dinosaur Crunch?”

“Those sound absolutely preposterous,” Naminé said with firm resolve. “Let’s try them all.”

“Whatever you want,” Olette said, giving her hand another soft squeeze. It was still a little cool and clammy from the basement—or maybe from the datascape itself—but it was full of life, and warming quickly.

* * *

The following week, it was Naminé who stood outside the Bistro, waiting for her date to arrive. She stuck her hands in her pockets to keep from fidgeting or obsessively checking her phone, and to appreciate the simple luxury of _having_ pockets. Olette had taken her clothes shopping during her first week in Twilight Town, patiently browsing the racks of her favorite thrift stores while Naminé spent upwards of two hours in the dressing rooms, trying on outfit after outfit, unable to figure out what style she preferred because she’d never been given options before. In the end, she had felt too guilty to spend any munny, and equally guilty for wasting Olette’s afternoon. Olette had laughed it off and promised to try again later, letting Naminé borrow some of her own clothes in the meantime.

_Borrow_, Naminé thought with an inward laugh, shoving her hands deeper in the pockets of Olette’s sweatshirt, which she had yet to return. The rest of the outfit, however, belonged solely to her. The combat boots kept her from stubbing her toes or feeling like a slight breeze might whisk her off the face of the earth. The tough denim pants and one-size-fits-most hoodie were a far cry from her flimsy old dress, plain and white as paper. She liked having pockets, and hearing her own footsteps, and being able to sit and stand and run however she wanted to.

She liked spending time with another girl, too. Olette had agreed, pointedly saying that it was nice to hang out with someone _normal_ for a change while Hayner and Pence pretended to be insulted. Naminé had let out a stilted laugh, because she was sure she was the least normal person in the world. A Nobody in possession of a Replica, like a mannequin come to life, trying to trick everyone into thinking she was real. Still trying to convince herself, too, after all this time.

But it was easier to believe it the more she hung out with Olette. They’d started having movie nights, and even sleepovers. Olette usually made food, and half the time, the results were delicious. The other times sent Olette scrambling for the fire extinguisher while Naminé jabbed at the ceiling with a broom to silence the smoke alarm. Once the windows were opened and the smoke detector covered in scuff marks, the girls collapsed against the counter, unable to breathe through their laughter and the thick smell of burnt cookies.

When it was Naminé’s turn to bake dessert, there was no thrill of danger, no possible explosions or alarms, but the end result was inoffensively bland. Olette ate the food without complaint, admitting that a slightly dry brownie was better than scorch marks on her cabinets and ceiling. Naminé agreed, though she wasn’t much of a fan of brownies to begin with, and had only baked them because she remembered Olette saying how much she loved chocolate.

Naminé knew why she was so cautious with food, besides her fear of destroying Olette’s kitchen. Scent and memory had a powerful connection, and any strong or notable smell ran the risk of sending her straight back to Castle Oblivion.

Her captors had complained about phantom odors in the fortress, lodging in their noses, up their nasal cavities, all the way to the amygdala. Sometimes, they brought the scents with them. Axel had smelled of acrid smoke, the kind that was toxic instead of simply suffocating. Marluxia had smelled like flowers, torn apart and crushed in dark soil. Vexen always wrinkled his nose on the upper floors, claiming that they smelled like vinegar on his good days and bleach on his bad ones. And DiZ had said that the entire place reeked of darkness, the smell of it flooding the halls as if from a burst pipe.

Naminé knew the castle smelled like all of these things and more. Nothing pried a buried memory to the surface like the right—or wrong—scent.

She bit the inside of her lip. DiZ wasn’t DiZ anymore, she chided herself, and he hadn’t been for a long time. He was Ansem again. And Vexen was Even, and Zexion was Ienzo, and Axel was Lea, except when he decided he wasn’t. The loose ends of Marluxia and Larxene caused Naminé more than a little anxiety, and she still caught herself tensing up sometimes when she walked past a flower bed in full bloom, or when summer storms lit the sky with electricity.

But things were getting better, and so was she. She resolved to stop visiting the basement and spend more time in the real Twilight Town. She was making herself try new things—not in spite of the fact that they made her nervous, but _because_ they made her nervous. She had even stood on a skateboard for the first time last week, though all she managed to do was shift from side to side a few nervous inches, and she’d held Olette’s hands in a vice grip the entire time.

And, due to the roulette spin that was Olette’s cooking skills, Naminé had tried almost all the restaurants and eateries in town. Her favorite venue, however, remained Le Grand Bistrot. The food was consistently good, and the employee discount was a nice bonus, thanks to Olette’s part-time delivery job and Naminé’s recent collaboration with Mr. McDuck. She had experimented with new art styles to help him design the posters for his upcoming films, a process she found quite refreshing compared to her old job of churning out sketches as quickly as possible. Scrooge had been delighted with her work, gushing over how she combined the vintage style of his movies with the modernity of Twilight Town, and Naminé couldn’t deny feeling a bit of pride when she saw Olette hanging her art up around town on her poster route.

Naminé stood on her toes and squinted at the clock tower in the distance. She was one second away from texting Olette when she heard a familiar voice say, “Hey!” She turned around with a smile and saw Olette trotting across the patio to greet her with a hug. “Sorry I’m late,” she said as they separated. “Just finishing up a few things in there.”

“It’s no problem,” Naminé said, glancing over her shoulder and furrowing her brow. “I thought you had the day off?”

“I do, I do. Just, uh…setting up our date.”

“…oh?” Naminé asked. Olette put her hands in her pockets and shrugged, uncharacteristically and intriguingly shy.

“Yeah, I just figured—‘cause of what we talked about last week, you know, with you wanting to spend some time in quieter places—plus, we get that discount here, so it seemed like the perfect spot—” Olette cut herself off when she noticed Naminé’s blank stare, and she took a deep breath to help her gather her thoughts. “How about I just show you, and you can tell me if you like it?”

Naminé nodded, not knowing what to expect but far too curious to say no. She allowed Olette to guide her to the back of the restaurant, where the makeshift theater was set up, and when they stepped inside the alley, Naminé needed a minute to take in the sight.

Several benches were pushed to the wall, and in their place was a small table, complete with a tablecloth, a lantern, and a food cart with several covered dishes standing a few feet away. Aside from the lantern and a few lights strung up around the alley, the only illumination came from the movie screen, revealing the title of what Naminé assumed was a romantic comedy, based on the font and the pink color scheme. She looked up, wondering how the alley had achieved such darkness in the early summer evening, and she saw a large canvas stretching from one rooftop to the other, blocking out the sun.

“Tada!” Olette said, holding both arms out to display her handiwork. “What do you think?”

Naminé wasn’t sure she _could_ think. “I…how…?” was the best she could come up with, and Olette laughed self-consciously.

“I got Scrooge to reserve the theater for us,” she explained. “It was a tough sell at first. He said it was a ‘highly irregular request,’ but I reminded him that he’s a highly irregular person. And then, in order to keep my job, I promised to do some extra work hanging up posters. Joke’s on him, though, because I was planning to spend a few hours skateboarding this weekend anyway.”

When Naminé still didn’t say anything, Olette waved her over to the table and lifted the cover off one of the plates. “Chef has some new recipes in the works. He said we could—well, I _think_ he said we could be the first to test them. But if you don’t like it, I have some backup food in the kitchen. Just say the word, and I’ll run in and get it.”

Naminé took a deep breath. The smell of the food floated up, bursting with flavor, crackling with spices, delightfully and enchantingly new. She closed her eyes to savor it, and when she opened them again, she was smiling. “This looks great,” she said, referring to everything—the food, the movie, the overall set-up. Olette smiled back, clearly relieved, but Naminé asked, “Are you sure you want to eat here, though? I know you were thinking of one of those rooftop cafés…”

“Yeah, but we can do that anytime,” Olette said, pulling Naminé’s chair out for her and ending the argument before it began. “Unless _you_ don’t want to eat here?”

“No, I do,” Naminé said, sitting down gratefully as Olette began serving the food. She waited until Olette got the projector rolling before she said, “Thank you.”

Olette took her seat and laid a napkin across her lap.“No problem,” she said, scooting her chair closer to Naminé’s so she could see the screen more easily. For a while, they ate in silence, focusing on their meals and the movie. The only interruption was Olette’s announcement of, “_Wow_, this is good,” after her first bite. She proceeded to enjoy her meal with large, indulgent spoonfuls, and although Naminé ate more primly, she still cleared her plate at the same time as Olette.

They didn’t save as much room for dessert as they would have liked, but Olette served it anyway, refusing to let the dish of Crêpes Suzette go to waste. Naminé hesitated, not wanting to spend what little room she had left on a dessert she’d never tried before. “Is it good?” she asked after Olette took the first bite. Instead of answering, Olette loaded up her fork with a second helping and offered it to Naminé.

“See for yourself,” she said. Naminé glanced at the utensil, and then, before she could think about what she was doing, she leaned in, crossing fully over the edge of her comfort zone and brushing her lips against Olette’s. It was a fleeting kiss—Olette was too stunned to return it, and Naminé was too nervous to linger. But it was sugar and citrus, caramel and tangerine, and sweetly orange: the color of every single Olette that graced the pages of Naminé’s sketchbook.

Naminé moved back more suddenly than she’d leaned in. For a moment, the two of them stared at one another in the dim alley, the movie flickering light over their surprised faces. Olette was the first to react, smiling in disbelief, but Naminé looked down before she could see it. She pushed the dessert through a pool of syrup with her fork while Olette moved her chair even closer, wrapping her arm around Naminé’s shoulders.

“So…” she said quietly, “…how was it?”

Naminé laughed nervously. “Good,” she said, leaning against Olette but still avoiding eye contact for dear life. Olette tucked Naminé’s hair behind her ear and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She bumped her forehead fondly against the side of Naminé’s head before cutting her some slack and turning her attention back to the movie screen, though her brain was buzzing too much for her to focus on it. She let Naminé pick at the dessert until she was full, and Olette finished the rest of it herself.

As the film played on, Naminé finally began to loosen up. She even fixed Olette’s hair when she realized one of her pseudo-pigtails had fallen out of place. Naminé laid the lock of hair over her shoulder again and twirled it around itself until it formed a long spiral, tapered at the end like a seashell. Olette smiled, and unable to help herself, she kissed the side of Naminé’s head. “Not to brag or anything,” she said as Naminé laid her head on her shoulder, “but this was a pretty good idea, right?”

“Mhmm,” Naminé said, taking Olette’s free hand in hers and laying them both on her lap.

“…and you’ll tell me if you feel like doing this again, right? You know…something quiet?”

“Mhmm.”

“Promise?”

Naminé turned her hand over and curled her pinky around Olette’s. “Promise,” she said, and Olette returned the gesture, resting her head against Naminé’s.

In the beginning, when Naminé had first started living in Twilight Town, she’d had her doubts that it would work out. Everyone knew that she’d been involved in the data town, and although she’d never admit it, sometimes that version of the town was still the one that felt the most real to her.

But the more time she spent in the living, breathing Twilight Town, the more natural it all felt. Naminé had sworn that she was done overwriting memories, but now she was starting to suspect that there might be a right way to do it after all. And maybe this was it. Filling her life with mundane experiences and letting her time in Castle Oblivion and the mansion slip away, as intangible as data, as artificial as moonlight, as vague as a shadow. She’d been the keeper of memories for as long as she’d existed. Maybe it was time to give herself permission to forget, to paint over the canvas of her past.

She used to feel guilt, even pain, over letting old memories go. Now, she felt at peace. And she spent the rest of the date with her pinky finger locked around Olette’s—not just a promise, but two links in a brand new chain, with countless memories still to come.


End file.
